


How We Danced At Castle Cousland

by Tadeusz



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: (but some angst), Friendship, Light-Hearted, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-19
Updated: 2015-08-19
Packaged: 2018-04-15 13:27:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,440
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4608522
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tadeusz/pseuds/Tadeusz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A group of traveling minstrels begs the protection of Warden Garlan Cousland and his companions for a night. Their presence (and their playing) is a source of argument for most of the evening, until a song pulls Garlan into his past. Perhaps, he decides, it is time to make room for new memories amidst the old.</p>
            </blockquote>





	How We Danced At Castle Cousland

**Author's Note:**

> Though she's not named, the cousin mentioned in this piece is the lovely Warden Cecilia Cousland, who belongs to the fabulous Hawkules over on Tumblr!

The traveling minstrels had been a source of argument for most of the evening. The four musicians had come across the camp shortly before sunset, and begged protection for the night in exchange for coin. Aware that the precious few minstrels still ranging were not making much, Garlan waved away their offers of payment. This had pleased exactly four other people. Everyone else was dissatisfied by some aspect of the arrangement, and in Morrigan's case, by all of it.

By late evening, though, the bickering had finally subsided for a precious few moments, to something that was… almost entirely pleasant conversation.

“Do you like to dance, Sten?” Leliana said. “It’s sort of a way of training, don’t you think?”

Sten looked up from his spot near Shale. “Dancing is not disciplined enough to be useful for training,” he said.

Zevran raised his eyebrows. “What if _I_ danced with you, my Qunari friend?”

“No.”

“Alas!”

Content to half-listen to their banter, Garlan plucked an apple from his pack. He paused with it halfway to his mouth as the minstrels began a new song. The first few buoyant notes on the lute were quickly joined by the panpipes and viol to weave a familiar melody, underscored by a steady, gleeful drum. The first time he'd heard it played, it had been group of minstrels spending the winter at Castle Cousland. Garlan spent that winter begging them to play the tune again and again, until his mother demanded he stop, lest he drive the entire castle mad with the constant repetition. This particular band was far too young to be the one that had played then, but the song! That was like a dear, old friend.

Under the stars and in the light of the campfire, he could almost pretend he was home at one of castle Cousland’s rare balls, the main hall so full of tables of people feasting and drinking that the dancing spilled out into the courtyard.

On night of Fergus’ wedding, Garlan had twirled across the courtyard with a distant cousin. Their parents had been trying to steer them into a marriage, but the childhood companions had long known there would never be anything more than deep friendship between them. Giddy with their secret knowledge, they spun together, feet flying faster and faster. Their mabari hounds leapt about their legs, shaking their entire rumps. Finally, the speed of their dance and the cavorting paws sent Garlan sprawling on his back. He gasped as he tried to laugh with the wind knocked from him. Heads turned as his cousin doubled over with gales of laughter, watching the dogs clamber over him.

And oh, when he’d been delirious with fever for a week and had dreamt songs again and again and again. Later, he learned that his mother had sent couriers to all the nearby towns to find traveling musicians to play for him as he recovered, hoping that it might call him back. And when his father had caught him dancing with another nobleman in a secluded corner of the courtyard at the celebration for Oren’s third nameday! The music had suddenly seemed so clear and bright when he squeezed Garlan’s shoulder and said, “I am sorry for anything your mother and I did that made you feel as though you couldn’t tell us.” And when he had taken Oren to the fair in town and tossed a silver to the musicians and Oren had begged to be picked up and swung about and—

Those memories were all that was left. An ache began in his chest and spread, until his stomach felt hollow and his throat tight. He wondered if Howe had gone after his cousin’s family’s holdings as well, or if he had been content with destroying only the main Cousland line. Amidst the chaos of the darkspwan and impending civil war, it had been impossible to get news of her. He hoped she had had time to flee. Perhaps, she, at least, was still more than a wisp of melancholy that haunted the edges of his life.

There was a weight on his thigh as King placed his head there and whined. Garlan patted him looked up, conscious of questioning eyes. Wynne was watching him closely and Leliana’s brow was furrowed, but no one else seemed to have noticed his sudden change of mood.

“Garlan?” Leliana asked. “What’s on your mind?”

Garlan hoped his smile did not look forced. “Nothing,” he said. “Just listening to the song. I always asked the minstrels to play it when they visited Castle Cousland.”

Wynne’s expression gave way to pity and Leliana’s face softened. “I’m sor—“

Garlan continued over her. “It’s called The Mabari Crowned King. Do you know it?”

“Did you—” Alistair looked at King, who leapt to his feet and barked once. “You named a _war dog_ after a _jig_?”

“My brother teased me about it, too,” said Garlan, tossing his uneaten apple at Alistair, who snatched it from the air before it hit the side of his head.

“And did you throw things at _him_?”

“It was more satisfying, since he wasn’t as quick to catch them.”

Before Alistair could come up with a retort, Leliana spoke up, trying to draw the topic away from the border of a painful subject. “The music in Orlais was always… I don’t know, more proper. Softer. There’s beauty in it, but I always loved the energy of Ferelden music.”

“This sounds like something that belongs in a tavern, not a castle,” Zevran said.

The smile on Garlan’s face was becoming truer and truer by the moment. “Is that was you think?” he asked. “Let me show you how we danced in Castle Cousland!”

He sprung up and grabbed Zevran’s hand. Though Zevran tsked and said, “My Warden, you have grown too bold!” he smiled, and followed without hesitation.

A little ways from the campfire, Garlan showed Zevran the steps. “You start with your hand on my waist and mine on yours, but at arm’s length… right, now put your other hand on my wrist…” Aside from a few changes of hand position from waist to hand and back again and changing direction from time to time, the bulk of it was whirling around and around one another, feet darting around your partner’s.

“I stand corrected!” said Zevran. “This is not suited to a tavern at all, the tables would be sure to get kicked over!” Before long, he was moving even faster than the music, and Garlan struggled to keep up. His movements became more erratic the swifter they got, until there was hardly any choreographed movement left at all. King, for once, stayed a safe distance away, but he barked excitedly several times and threw himself on the ground to roll ecstatically before bounding to his feet to caper before repeating the process.

By the time the song ended, Garlan was so dizzy that he had to throw an arm around Zevran’s shoulders to steady himself, but his grin so wide and unyielding his cheeks hurt.

Leliana clapped, laughing. “Very, um, lively, both of you! Care to try, Alistair?”

“As much as I love a good kick in the shin, I have to pass on this one.”

Another song began. The beat was slower, but there was still joy in the lilting sound of the viol and its accompaniment. Half-joking, Oghren offered to dance with Leliana—she shot him down almost as soon as the words were out of his mouth. (And when Zevran offered _him_ a dance, Oghren’s refusal was even less tactful than Sten’s had been.) Fussing with the goods in his wagon, Bodahn hummed along, while Sandal stood close to him, bobbing along in time with the music. Even Shale commented that it somewhat less atrocious than the poorly tuned nonsense they played in Honnleath. Meanwhile, Wynne had almost convinced Alistair that he really ought to give the dance a try, but then Morrigan stalked out of her tent, dashing any hope of him participating.  Delighted by the entire group being in such close proximity, King scampered from person to person, earning a mixture of ear scratches and admonishments for drooling on shoes.

The emptiness left by so much loss would never abate, and Garlan had no illusions that it would.  Even so, as he sat amongst his companions with his arm still around Zevran, he felt a rush of fondness for all of them. Perhaps, there was room for new memories, alongside the old.

Orange sparks arced away from the fire, towards the infinite diamond tapestry overhead, and he took Zevran’s hand for a second dance.


End file.
